


Crack Eyez

by JeanJavert



Series: Crack Eyez [1]
Category: Supernatural, The Vampire Diaries & Related Fandoms, The Vampire Diaries (TV), Until Dawn (Video Game)
Genre: 1990s, Alternate Universe - Crack, Anime/Manga Fusion, Crack, Crack Crossover, Gen, High School, Multi, Other
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-19
Updated: 2017-08-19
Packaged: 2018-08-31 20:13:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 11,863
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8591992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JeanJavert/pseuds/JeanJavert
Summary: Damon 'Washington' Salvatore sets out to find his wayward son on Blackwood Mountain.  Will there be peace when he is done?





	1. Something Stupid This Way Comes

**Author's Note:**

> The guilty parties know who they are.

Damon’s awakening was routine: the noonday sun was already shining, clothes were strewn across the room, and the distinct taste of mid-range bourbon colored his morning breath. Detecting no major aches or pains, he surmised that good ol’ vampire healing had taken the edge off last night’s shenanigans. As he scrounged for whatever humans used as undergarments these days, he spied a discarded [unicorn dildo](http://bad-dragon.com/products/bumblehooves) and empty blood bags that had gotten lost under the bed.

 

_God, I love being me._

 

He sauntered over to the bathroom. After selecting a choice bar from the soap dish- and making sure the moonstone was safe- he washed his face and took stock of his gift to anything that had a pulse at some point. Luminous blue eyes smoldered back at him from the mirror. With a practiced hand, Damon lightly lined his hypnotic peepers.

 

_I have NO idea why people say I look like I’ve been hitting crack. I look great._

 

Satisfied with the results, Damon headed downstairs for breakfast. He put on 90s classics and started to make pancakes. Would Bonnie want blueberry pancakes or chocolate chip pancakes? Or ‘red velvet’ (read: blood) pancakes? Nah, girl would fry him for it. Blueberry pancakes, then.

 

To get the witch out of bed and down to breakfast, Damon turned the music up to soul-destroying levels. The dulcet tones of Nine Inch Nails' vocalist rocketed through the house.

 

“I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL.”

 

Flipping one last pancake onto his plate, Damon took a seat at the table and dug into his food with gusto. If BonBon wanted to have a lie in, she’d better not complain about her pancakes getting cold.

 

“I WANNA FEEL YOU FROM THE INSIIIIIIDE.”

 

Damon frowned. Something was off, and it wasn’t just the lack of O negative in the batter. Where was Bonnie, anyway? He reached for the syrup-

 

“I WANNA FUCK YOU LIKE AN ANIMAL.”

 

_Wait._

 

This wasn’t the eternal 90s. He’d gotten out of the Gemini prison world of 1994 and gone on to make many more questionable decisions as part of his regular undead life in the 21st century.

 

“YOUR WHOLE EXISTANCE IS FLAWED.”

 

His eyes snapped to the syrup bottle and felt his vampire blood somehow manage to get colder. This wasn’t regular syrup, this was maple syrup! Oh god, he was in Canada!

 

“YOU GET ME CLOSER TO GOD.”

 

His unearthly blue eyes widened as the funky fresh tunes of a 90s rock hit swelled around him and the memories of the last few years came flooding back. He wasn’t a Salvatore anymore; he was a Washington, with a pair of recently deceased twins and an emotionally unstable son. The details of the situation were still a bit fuzzy- how was he married and raising kids in their teens when he’d spent the last several decades globetrotting? How did he even have kids in the first place when vampires shot blanks? Who was his wife?- but he knew everything was true. His gaze snapped to a photo of his kids stuck to the fridge with a magnet. From across the kitchen, familiar blue orbs suggesting narcotics usage peered out of the family photo.

 

_There’s no doubt about, that kid’s mine._

 

Damon shivered as he got up to wash his plate and crack open the first bottle of bourbon for the day.  For obvious reasons, the picture didn't blink.

 

_It’s like they follow me around the room!_

 

Sighing as the medicinal effects of bourbon made themselves known to his nervous system, Damon dredged his few brain cells to recall more about his familial situation. He was in a town near Alberta, some kind of upper middle class local land magnate, and down two out of three children. As more details returned, it struck him that he hadn’t spoken with his son in weeks, if not months. Considering Josh’s falling out with his creepy-ass therapist and growing obsession with Nash Grier-esque YouTube pranks, Damon figured he should probably reach out to his remaining offspring.

 

_Giving my dad a run for his money with the awful parenting, here._

 

The vamp dad downed the last of the bottle and headed back upstairs to put more clothes on. Stopping at the bathroom to fondly pat the moonstone before burying it back under the soap- _good thing I brought My Precious with me from West Virginia_ \- Damon sent one last appreciative look at his reflection.

 

_I’m so glad I was able to pass on my remarkable genes, even if it meant moving to Bumfuck, Canada, population: me._

 

He threw open the master bedroom closet to find all 500 of his leather jackets safely hung up. Selecting the ‘I’m a responsible but fun parent’ jacket, no. 328, Damon made himself presentable to head to Josh’s school and have a talk with the necessary parties. He’d find his son, have a man-to-man talk with the boy (read: compel him back to pre-Hannah and Beth mental health), and head to the closest dive bar to see whom he could pick up.

 

_Fuck it, I’m a great dad. Josh is so lucky to have me._

 

Outside, the wind picked up, sending a cold chill down from Blackwood Mountain. A crow cawed, a creature howled, and Damon ‘Washington’ Salvatore went looking for his son.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Next Chapter Preview:

 

“What exactly are you asking me, Mr. Washington?”

 

“I’m asking if my son was on any of the high school sports teams.”

 

“But what does that have to do with his being gay?”       

 

“I’ve seen enough sports anime to know what I’m talking about, kid.”


	2. Alberta Gakuen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Oh no! Damon-kun is late for anime school!

Damon eased the Benz into the high school parking lot with minimal loss of squirrel life along the way. The details of his Canadian life were still hazy, so finding the luxury car in his garage had been a nice surprise. Parking in a the ‘Assistant Principals Only’ spot, he got out and strode over to the administration building. Unsurprisingly, he was petty enough to turn on the vamp eyes to clear a path amongst the teens.

 

Ignoring the protests of the receptionist, Damon stormed the school counselor’s office, scaring out an anxious sophomore who would need even more counseling after the shock of having a fanged, coked-out parent burst through the door like the Kool-Aid Man. He cut right to the chase.

 

“So I’m looking for my boy, Josh. You seen him around?”

 

The counselor’s mouth opened and closed silently a few times before the identity of the man with the crazed expression became evident to them. (The eyes were what did the trick.)

 

“Mr. Washington! Oh goodness, the police have been trying to contact you for days! Your son went missing on the mountain and we haven’t been able to reach you! Where have you been?!”

 

Damon groaned. Just what he needed, a runaway son.

 

“My phone died and I couldn’t find a charger. Look, do you know who his friends are at school, and if they might know what he’s up to? Or if he even has any friends?”

 

“I-I-I think Josh hung out with Chris Anthemum, Sam Andreaz-Folt, and their group of friends,” stuttered the counselor, nervously wringing their hands and wishing the school could afford panic buttons in all the offices.

“Thank, buddy. I’ll check with them.” He quickly compelled the counselor to forget their exchange. With that, Damon flounced out of the office and back through the reception area, leering suggestively at anyone who gave him a second glance. The receptionist shuddered, knowing he would not sleep well that night with those creepy, pale blue eyes haunting him.

 

\--

 

The Father of the Year alternated between charming and interrogating random teens until he found the ‘We Survived Blackwood Mountain’ club camped out at the back of the school, trying and failing to conceal a vape pen when they saw him approach. Upon recognizing the swagger and coke-tastic gaze, everyone gasped. Someone (Ashley) screamed.

 

“Mr. Washington, is that you?” asked a handsome jock who seemed entirely too nice to be hanging out with some of these losers. Damon did his patented Damon Squint, jerking his head back and narrowing his (truly _unheimlich_ ) eyes at his prey, attempting to recall the name of this, or any, friend of his son.

 

“It sure is, uh….”

 

“Matt. Matt Ematix”

 

“Matt! Good ol’ Matt. I had a friend called Matt, well, he wasn’t so much a friend as a verbal punching bag, back in West Virginia-” A blonde, leader-of-the-pack type- _Sam?_ \- cut him off.

 

“Mr. Washington, I’m so sorry about what happened with Josh. You and your wife must be devastated,” the group of teens gave him heavily practiced looks of sympathy, “but I’m sure the police have explained why it’s too dangerous for you to go look for Josh…uh, Josh’s remains.” They nodded mournfully in unison and someone (Ashley) sniffled.

 

 _These kids are hiding something_.

 

A quick conference between his hazy memories of fatherhood and the current assortment of teens suggested that there were a couple members missing from this gaggle of goofs.

 

“Where’s the Less Attractive Jock and that nerdy guy my kid was hot for? Word is they made it out of the Washington Lodge Party From Hell 2k15 with you,” asked Damon, interrogating everyone with his eyes. The gang fidgeted, unable to return his gaze, and someone (Ashley) muttered, “um, we’re dating….” The other leader-of-the-pack friend took over.

 

“Mike’s out sick, too lazy to go to class on a Friday like the sack of shit he is. Chris is probably in the sport locker rooms, suiting up for chess club,” answered the brunette in shrieking tones that triggered flashbacks in some (Ashley) present of Wendigo howls. Damon hoped the blood leaking out of his ears was minimal. But the harpy had given him something to work with.

 

“Oh yeah, sports, I think Josh was maybe into them… or, the guys that played them. Was there a particular guy…. I mean, did Josh, you know….?” Sam scowled.

“What exactly are you asking, Mr. Washington?”

 

“I’m asking if my son was on any of the high school sports teams.”

 

“But what does that have to do with his being gay?”                                          

 

“I’ve seen enough sports anime to know what I’m talking about, kid. What I want to know is if there’s something, or rather, someone, that’d cause Josh to run away from our happy home.”

 

Totems-R-Us were mystified. Hadn’t Josh’s similarly unsettling father spoken with the police about the incident?

 

“Um, sir,” started Matt, “you know that, uh, ‘feral animals’ attacked when Josh invited us up to your lodge to play a practical joke on us, right? And that Josh….didn’t make it?” Damon huffed and rolled his ocular instruments of psychological torture.

 

“You’re not fooling anybody. I know Josh is hiding up in there like a hillbilly with fantastic genes and a dramatic streak a mile wide,”- someone (Ashley) muttered, “Wonder where he got it”- “I’m sure he’s just waiting for everyone to come crying back to him about how much we miss him, love him, etc.”

 

Their friend’s rapid decline in mental health suddenly made a lot more sense in the face of Washington Sr.

 

“It’s great that you’re loyal and everything to him, but you all gotta come clean,” chuckled Damon, “what’s Josh really up to?” Em was not having it.

 

“We told, you, he didn’t-”

 

The bell cut her off.  The Scooby Gang breathed a collective sigh of relief, clearing up any doubts about their lunchtime activities if sudden wave of cotton candy vape stench was anything to go by. They scampered off like rats to AP Calculus (Sam), Choir (Em), Home Ec. III (Matt), and Remedial Potions (Ashley). Damon pouted as they slunk away.

 

_Maybe they’re telling the truth. …Nah. Lemme go find that Chris kid, he was best buddies with Josh. I think._

Straightening jacket 328, Damon stumbled off to find answers. In a dark cavern a creature shifted uneasily in its sleep. The hunter was becoming the hunted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *muffled Attack on Titan theme plays in the distance*


	3. Just Guys Being Dudes in the Locker Room

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon tracks down his son's best friend, much to the youth's displeasure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can name a few names of people who owe me fic of their own right about now.

 

“Dude, bro, it’s not gay if we don’t look make eye contact-”

 

Damon did his Kool-Aid thing into the mens locker room.

 

“Hey ladies, sorry to interrupt the circle jerk, but I’m looking for a Mr. Chris Anthemum. Blond, nerdy, recently started dating someone (Ashley)?”

 

The guys scrambled to put everything away and point Damon to the far corner of the locker room. The vampire sashayed over to a young man affixing a bow tie in school colors to his standard issue chess match outfit. Chris tried his damnedest not to notice Damon’s approach.

 

“Would I be speaking to Chris Anthemum?” Chris sighed.

 

“Yes, Mr. Washington, it’s me. I’ve only spent about a thousand afternoons at your house.” Damon chuckled as a few memories came back.

 

“Oh man, good times. You and Josh, bro-ing it out afterschool. Since you’re so close, mind telling me where he’s shacking up? And don’t feed me that bull about feral animals, I _know_ junior’s not dead.” Chris straightened abruptly and turned to face his best friend’s father.

 

_Think I pissed him off. Most people don’t look at me directly, what with my constantly radiating raw sex appeal and all._

 

That was not the reason.

 

“My ‘bro,’” huffed Chris, turning red from the effort of holding up finger quotes, “went nuts and spent literal months concocting a plan to terrorize the shit out of us and put it on YouTube.” Damon raised a brow, making his creepy eyes look even creepier.

 

“So he like, broke your bro code- ‘brode?’- which sucks and all, but-” Chris cut him off.

 

“And… and! The whole _fucking_ time I had no idea what he was going through-”

 

Damon held up his hands in what he’d been told was typically a placating gesture. It didn’t work.

 

“-then I, we, let him meet with fucking Hannibal Lecter which was _obviously_ only going to make his mental health worse-”

 

_Right, the psychologist. Would he know….?_

“-and left him to be killed by the Wendigo!” Chris finished, panting like he’d run a mile. Something stirred in Damon’s perpetually sauced subconscious.

 

“Wendigo? That shit from back when Supernatural didn’t suck?” Chris’ far more normal eyes widened at his misstep.

 

“Th-that’s what I nicknamed the wolves, uh, I mean bears….wolves, that attacked us. You know me, big Superwholock fan and all, hahaha!” Damon’s lip curled in disgust.

 

_Trash that he is, the kid’s still lying about something. His heart rate is going waaay too fast._ _Time to play hardball. Magical Vampire Guy transformation!_

Damon’s Coca-Caina eyes flickered as he compelled Chris to tell him what Josh was really up to on the mountain. But the Math Olympian stuck to the story about Josh being dead at this point having been left with ‘Wendigos’ that would devour him. The former Mr. Salvatore was not impressed with the degree of PTSD the kid was clearly suffering from, if he couldn’t even admit that they’d been attacked by wild animals and not monsters the likes of which populated Supernatural.

 

_Only I’m allowed to traumatize children so badly! Damn, guess Josh left Chris out of his plans._

Vampapa compelled Chris to forget about any vampirisms and released his psychic hold. Chris blinked back into reality. As Damon made to leave, the teen called out to him.

 

“You really don’t want to believe he’s dead, do you Mr. Washington?” Damon turned and proceeded to meet his ‘I’m a real adult’ quota for the day.

 

“I know my son isn’t dead, Anthemum. He’s out there somewhere, and I’m gonna find him and bring him home.” Chris was dangerously close to being impressed by his ex-best friend’s father. “I wasn’t there for Josh when he needed me, but I’m here now. When you find someone (Ashley?) and have kids, you’ll understand.”

 

Chris was pretty sure he didn’t need to have children to understand the importance of not abandoning your loved ones to the tender mercies of Dr. Silent Hill during a time of need, but kept his mouth shut.

 

“Well it was great catching up with you kiddo, but I gotta see a psychologist about a son. Good luck in the big game!” Damon slapped Chris on the back far harder than necessary and exited the locker room.

 

The chess champ readjusted his fightin’ bowtie with unease. Josh was certainly, definitely, indubitably dead, end of story. No coked-out lush of a father was going to find his friend- _ex-friend_ \- on that mountain.

 

Probably.

 

\--

 

_That was a bust. All I learned is that Josh cut ties with all his pals, even Bro Homo back there._

Sipping bourbon out of a porcelain teacup, pinky raised like the gentleman he certainly wasn’t, Damon reflected on the trip to Josh’s school. His intel gathering sess was almost as big a disappointment as his kids. Logically, he could just super speed up the mountain and run around all day until he found signs of his son, but the thought of being exposed to the Canadian wilderness for so long made his skin crawl.

 

_Even I’m not that kinky._

He sighed and swished the Liver-Be-Gone around his cup. The fancy-ass Washington…house? mansion? had all of the tragic backstory of the Salvatore boarding house and none of the antique charm. Despite his piecemeal memories of being a family man, Damon sensed the oppressive silence chez Washington wasn’t right. Where were Beth and Hannah, squealing about their oh tee pees over laptops and mugs of tea in the den? Where was Josh, browsing stupid YouTube videos with one hand and swiping through Grindr with the other? Where was the elusive Mrs. Washington?

 

Damon frowned.

 

The twins were gone and his wife possibly didn’t exist, but sulking wouldn’t bring back his ocular legacy. He really- _really_ \- didn’t want to do this, but there was no choice.

 

It was time to pay a visit to Dr. Hill.

 

* * *

 

 

Next Chapter Preview:

 

Damon examined the clipboard of forms the receptionist had given him. When he set it down, he noticed that the waiting room looked different with a few changes here and there: the thick beige curtains were now in tatters; moonlight instead of sunlight streamed through the windows; the furniture appeared to have aged 50 years under harsh conditions.

 

And everything was covered in blood.


	4. Damon's Hill-arious Adventure Continues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Damon confronts the REAL big bad of Until Dawn.

Employing Google Maps like a boss ass bitch, Damon cut through the mid-afternoon traffic in town and up to the foothills. Dr. Hill’s office was located in a distinguished old hunting lodge that had been converted to site for medical practice. A quick search revealed that the empty property had been purchased cheaply after a series of grisly, unsolved murders had taken place inside a few years prior.

 

_If I were a betting man, I’d put money on my pal Dr. Florence Nightmare-gale._

Damon maneuvered the Benz up the coiled, one lane road to the clinic and despite being a literal undead creature of the night, felt a frisson of unease crawl under his skin. Every caw of a bird seemed to croak “Go back!”; abandoned shacks intimated forgotten horrors; shadows blurred at the corners of his vision; Michael Jackson screamed and presumably grabbed his crotch.

 

Mr. Washington flicked off the radio.

 

_That’s enough of that._

 

The rest of the drive passed without incident. Parking in front of the hunting lodge-cum-therapist’s office, Damon surveyed the scene. A little over the top, yes, but nothing immediately conveyed a sense of ‘The person who owns this place feasts on the lives of children.’ He entered the waiting room and politely (read: suggestively) asked to see the doctor. The receptionist, who was not paid nearly enough to deal with this bullshit, threw the introductory paperwork at him and hightailed it out of there.

 

Damon examined the clipboard of forms the receptionist had chucked at his head. When he set it down, he noticed that the waiting room looked different with a few changes here and there: the thick beige curtains were now in tatters; moonlight instead of sunlight streamed through the windows; the furniture appeared to have aged 50 years under harsh conditions.

 

And everything was covered in blood.

 

_Great! I’m starving. Wait, no, hold up-_

The door to the counselor’s room opened with a bang. Damon blinked his crackalicious eyes, and everything looked as normal as ever. A cheerful voice bade him enter. Bewildered, but too buzzed to care, he breached the inner sanctum. Vampadre mentally steeled himself to go head to head with the psychologist cryptid.

 

The chambers were a bespoke, rustic, Canadian chic. Late afternoon sunlight warmed the room. Dr. Hill was finishing a quick work email as Damon walked him. Looking up at his former patient’s father, he smiled.

 

“Mr. Washington! Welcome, welcome. Please, have a seat,” said Dr. Hill, pointing Damon to a comfy chair. Damon sat down gingerly in case of a jumpscare.

 

_How did he know it was me when my frightfully good looks scared the receptionist off?_

“I saw you pull up and walk over from my window.”

 

Damon jumped, scared.

 

_Did he just read my mind?_

 

“Ah, if only I could read minds! I would be of greater help to patients,” bemoaned Dr. Hill, cutting a check to the SPCA. “I suppose you’re here to discuss your son. What a tragedy. I wish I had recognized the signs for what they were, and sought legal intervention.” He dotted the i’s and crossed the t’s of a “Get Well Soon” card to a local ailing widow. Damon did his crazy eyes thing.

 

“About that. Why’d you let my boy go off and start a SatanTube channel?” Dr. Hill gave him a concerned frown as he pulled freshly baked muffins out of the oven to be given to the children’s hospital.

 

“I could ask you the same question, Mr. Washington. The apparent neglect Josh suffered at your hands over the past year would be considered by most a matter for child services,” the good doctor admonished as he knitted thick, woolen sweaters for the homeless. Damon winced, acknowledging censure for perhaps the fifth time in his freakishly long unlife. Might as well cut to the chase.

 

“Let’s call it even. What do you know about Josh’s whereabouts? Where’s that kid gotten to?” As he cut out one of his own kidneys for donation, Dr. Hill looked confused.

 

“Mr. Washington, I’m afraid I don’t understand. Josh has been declared missing and presumed dead by the police.” Damon growled at the persistent obstinacy he was running into that day.

 

“Not you too! Look Hillibal Lecter, I know my son is still up on that mountain. Didn’t Josh ever let any of his plans slip, or were you too busy licking your own eyeballs to notice?” Dr. Hill’s expression looked as hurt as the injured puppy’s leg he was carefully wrapping.

 

“Now Mr. Washington, there’s no need to resort to such language-”

 

But Damon had reached the end of his incredibly short rope. He flounced out of the lodge and into the parking lot with all the fury of a mid-tantrum toddler. Metaphorically fucking the speed limit like Christian Gray smashing open Anastasia’s asshole, Damon sped off to Blackwood Mountain.

 

_If you want something done right, you gotta do it yourself. Look out junior, it’s hunting season._

\--

 

Dr. Hill sighed and shook his head as he watched Damon peel off down the road. Closing up shop for the night, he drew the blinds, pushed in the chairs, and turned off the lights. Finished, he straightened, unhinged his jaw, and ate himself feet first Ouroboros-style until the office was devoid of life.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Works Cited
> 
> HellsBells, Gimlisonofgloin. "wouldn't it be hilarious if you just made him normal?" Facebook.com. 28 Nov 2016. Web. Retrieved 2 Dec 2016.


	5. Monster Who Fights Monsters, Beware

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "take care that you yourself do not become a monster"

Damon Washington né Salvatore stood at the base of Blackwood Mountain, gazing up to its frozen peak with eyes colder than the surrounding snow. Spring’s slow approach had barely lessened the frozen hell of the Albertian wilderness. Night had fallen during the drive from Dr. Yikes-a-lot’s office. A smart man would have waited at least until dawn, and pick up some supplies, to start a mountain-wide search, but Damon was 1) not smart and, in an undead fashion, 2) not a man. As it was, he only had leather jacket no. 328, a flashlight app on his phone, and several decades’ worth of accumulated mulishness at his disposal. They would have to do.

 

_Here at last. Joshy-boy, I’ll drag you back to civilization with my bare, shapely hands._

 

And with that, Joshy-boy’s father took off at a sprint, a vampire-sprint to be more precise. Running helter-skelter through the forest, he passed tire tracks, woodland creatures, and the mutilated corpses of what once might have been a SWAT team. But still, no Josh. After about 20 minutes of getting snow down his designer socks, Damon came to a halt. He was getting everywhere fast, but the only ‘where’ he wanted to go was eluding him. Count Dadula took a fortifying swig from his hip flask. In a rare occurrence, a thought occurred to him. Didn’t he and his perpetually absent wife have a lodge up here? Possibly one that his heir apparent used to terrify his few friends into abandoning him? Right, that sounded vaguely familiar. To the Washington Lodge!

 

Chez Washington was a burnt out husk of a thing whose crumbling façade was the only thing going for it; Damon felt right at home. The elements had started to take their toll on the legally and morally condemned building. Damon wasn’t entirely sure why it looked like a bomb went off inside, but then again, he wasn’t entirely sure about most things in his life. Toeing the threshold, he cautiously jabbed a foot through the doorway just in case the property was legally under his _semper in absentia_ wife’s name. Nope, no anti-vampire force field here. Either the property belonged to him on paper, or the legal owner was dead.

 

_Finally, some good news!_

 

As he stepped into the foyer, Damon noticed a pair of fresh footprints in the snow. With the lack of tracks leading out of the lodge, the recent guest must still be inside. There was only one person it could be.

 

_I’ve got your trail, son. Your Bear Grylls days are over!_

Smirking at his detective genius, the West Virginia transplant began his search of the lodge with the confidence of someone far superior to his actual abilities. In the basement he found a creepy as get-all-out doll that looked vaguely like the twins, but for his own peace of mind, decided against questioning why his son was holed up alone with a doll of his dead sisters. He’d seen enough Games of Thrones to know where that train of thought went.

 

He found nothing besides the doll and ferocious-looking claw marks on the upholstery. Scowling at Josh’s elusiveness, Damon headed back into the main hall. Fresher footprints led back out into the cold Canadian night. Josh must have just left! Damon threw himself outside, peering wildly around with Class A substance-suggestive eyes for a glimpse of his wayward son. Something rustled in the bushes. Damon crouched, wiggled his butt like the world’s ugliest kitten, and vampounced.

 

“Gotcha, junior!” he crowed, tackling the young man in the bushes to the ground. But it was not to be. Damon stepped back in shock. “Chris?”

 

Chris- for it was he- pulled himself into a sitting position, coughing out what felt like a few shards of splintered rib. Damon pouted (angrily, as he did everything).

 

“What the hell are you doing up here in the middle of the night in the dead of winter?! You trying to implicate me in _another_ teen death?” Chris huffed in exasperation.

 

“I’m the only one wearing a real coat and snow boots, Mr. Washington. You sounded so sure that Josh was alive earlier, I started to wonder….if maybe we wrote him off too quickly. And, I figured you’d come up here to look for him at the literal worst possible time.” Damon mused this information over in his mostly empty head.

 

“How’d you get up here, anyway?”

 

“Someone (Ashley) gave me a ride to the base of the mountain, and I took a gondola up to the lodge.” He paused for emphasis. “We’re dating now.” Damon rolled his unholy eyes.

 

“Maybe don’t say that when we’re trying to persuade Josh to come back home.” Chris let it slide, not feeling up to explaining the extensive matchmaking scheme Josh had cooked up just to get Chris and Ashley together.

 

"I know you don’t believe me, but there’s some seriously bad stuff out there. Now that I found you, we should get back-”

 

An honest-to-god unearthly howl pierced the night. Chris whimpered, scared. But, Damon noticed, not entirely surprised.

 

“Those the wolf-bears that got you last time?” he asked wryly, elbowing the teen hard enough to leave a bruise. Chris grimaced, wondering why he put himself between a rock and a Damon-place. He grabbed hold of the offending elbow and started tugging the vampire-in-law to the gondola.

 

“We need to go, now. There’s someone (Ashley) waiting at the base of the mountain to get us back into town.” But Damon dug in his heels.

_Alright fine, Christina here wasn’t kidding about the wild animals. Just means I have to find sonny boy ASAP._

 

Chris groaned in frustration at his inability to budge the man-pire.

 

“I’m not kidding Mr. Washington, we _need_ to get out of h-”

 

This time, a shriek familiar to both men disturbed the cold air. Damon ripped himself out of Chris’ hold and made for the direction of Josh’s voice. Chris attempted to hold him still, with minimal success.

 

“No, Mr. Washington, that’s not Josh! They lure you out by mimicking human voices-”

 

Damon had gotten through his life and unlife without listening to good advice, and he wasn’t about to start now. As another one of ‘Josh’s’ cries rang out from the dark forest, Damon hauled the teen to attention and directed the full force of his crackalackin’ gaze at him.

 

_Set phasers to ‘compel.’_

“You will wait in the lodge and keep yourself safe until I come back. Don’t even _think_ about trying to stop me.”

 

Chris nodded in nonconsensual consent and headed into husk of the lodge. Damon turned to face the forest and vamp-sprinted for the trees. Though claw marks abounded, there were no signs of a mentally unstable teenaged boy. The elder Salvatore brother felt the stirrings of panic rise in his dead flesh.

 

Behind him, Chris’ scream of terror rang faintly from the lodge. Cursing Canadian teens and their penchant for attracting trouble, Damon sped back to where he had left him. In his usual Oppa Kool-Aid Style, he burst into the lodge in time to see Chris being dragged around a corner by an unseen animal. Discarding the pretense of humanity, Damon vamped out and lunged across the hall, ricocheting of the far wall and hurtling down the corridor to slam into whatever was making off with Chris. As he made contact with the menace, several thoughts crossed his mind in the span of an instant:

 

  1. _I’m like, the most heroic person I know,_
  2. _I need to remind myself to compel Christ into forgetting everything later,_ and most notably,
  3. _Holy SHIT was I wrong, this thing’s no wild animal!_



The two freaks of nature tumbled down the hall, grappling for control. The sober creature hit the far wall and was momentarily stunned, giving Damon an opening to pin its wrists together in one hand and get an iron grip on its neck with the other. It writhed in Damon’s hold, attempting to curl up its lower body and kick the vampire loose. Only his supernatural speed kept him from getting a face full of filthy white toes.

 

As he stared into the pale abyss below, the abyss stared back.

 

Damon choked on shock and disbelief.  Those unnatural, pale blue eyes!  The same one that smoldered back at him in reflective surfaces!  It couldn't be-!

 

“Josh?”


	6. Don't Tease Me, Daddy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Damon learns a thing or two about family, friendship, and underestimating Canadian teens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blame the usual parties.

 This, Chris decided, was not his year.

 

After getting black-out drunk with his best friend, he was unable to stop the entirely preventable deaths of two of his friends, failed to notice his said best friend’s decline into psychosis, barely survived a night of mind tricks and monsters on a mountain in the dead of winter, and left the same best friend to death-by-devouring. Just when he thought he was out of the proverbial and literal woods, best friend’s father shows up after a long, unexplainable absence and starts poking around the disappearance of his son, asking all the questions Chris _really_ didn’t want to answer, such as: ‘what if Josh isn’t dead?’

 

Now, Chris was sitting bruised and rug-burned in the absolute last place he ever wanted to visit again, watching Mr. Washington repeatedly smack…Josh? Wendi-Josh? The Little Wendigo That Couldn’t? into temporary unconsciousness as he dragged the long-limbed monster back down the hallway.   Every time the Wendigo- _Jesus, I don’t want to think of it as Josh_ \- roused and struggled, Damon would deliver a skull-cracking blow to the head, knocking out his heir apparent for a scant few minutes. For perhaps the 1000th time since meeting Mr. Washington, Chris felt the urge to contact child services.

 

The fangs, rippling face veins, and crackx10^27 eyes held him back.

 

_There’s a joke in here about seeing where Josh gets it._

 

Remembering some rope he had seen in a storage room during a previous trip to the Chez Washington Lodge, Chris scrambled to retrieve it, thankfully unburned from the gas explosion a month prior, and helped Mr. Washington tie the Wendigo’s arms against its body. Giving a savage kick to the shrieking menace’s head for a brief respite of silence, Damon stood back with satisfaction.

 

“They won’t hold him for a second when he wakes up, but they should make lugging him down the mountain easier,” he said with a grin, resuming a devil-may-care attitude native to his personality. Chris choked on air.

 

“You plan on bringing him into town?! There are people in town!” Damon rolled the chips of ice he called eyes.

 

“I know what a town is. I have a middle school education and everything. Relax, I’ll keep him in the house, chain him up in the basement, all that good stuff. Gonna call my witch friend Bonnie to see if we can reverse this growth spurt of his. You know, I swear he wasn’t this tall the last time I saw him…” Chris figured that was the best opening he’d get, and took the shot.

 

“Soooo,” he started, edging back a few paces in case things didn’t go well, “are we done pretending that Wendigos aren’t real and that you’re not a vampire?” Damon fell over in shock. Then, getting to his feet:

 

“Wh-what? How did you know?!” It was Chris’ turn to roll his (far more normal) eyes.

 

“Once again Mr. Washington, I’ve known you for years. There are always blood bags in the fridge anytime I come over to hang out with Josh. When you say you’re running out for a few minutes to the liquor store, you literally run miles into town and back in like 10 minutes. Whenever someone mentions ‘abstinence’ or ‘temperance,'  you get all fangy and veiny in the face.”

 

Indeed, Damon struggled to bring his vampirism back under wraps after Chris’ use of the Forbidden Words caused their usual allergic reaction. Chris continued.

 

“I’m not sure how you can walk around during the day-” Damon subconsciously thumbed that one ring he always wore- “or have kids for that matter, but look, I don’t want any trouble. Wendigos are _dangerous_. They eat humans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. If you bring that…. thing, into town, it’ll get loose one of these days and eat everyone. Don’t you remember how the only remains of the SWAT team they sent up here were their guns and some shredded Kevlar? That’s what’ll happen if you take Josh down the mountain!”

 

Damon had only the foggiest memories of hearing about a misplaced SWAT team, but Chris’ slip up did not go unnoticed. He hurled his precious bundle back into the main hall and firmly planted a foot on the creature’s bony chest.

 

“Alright white and nerdy, clearly you’re more perceptive than I thought. But it doesn’t matter. I'm sure something can be done to help my boy, and I think somewhere under those layers of flannel and Canadian skim milk, you do too.” Chris sighed. Josh squirmed, and Damon released his frustration at the situation through his boot to the Wendigo’s cranium, shutting it up once more.

 

“I want to help Josh, Mr. Washington, but he’s gone. Even if we could turn back into a human, he might…be better off a Wendigo,” he paused, reluctant to share this particular information with Josh’s father, no matter how lacking as a parent Damon had been. “Do you know how people become Wendigos, sir?” Damon cocked his head.

 

“Huh, that’s never occurred to me before…”

 

_Of course it hasn’t, you horrible excuse for an adult._

“There’s a curse on this land. When a person on Blackwood Mountain resorts to-”

 

But Josh was unable to finish his explanation, what with the sudden barrage of high beams, rock salt, and holy water assaulting the trio. From where he was curled in the fetal position on the burnt floor, Chris heard an American drawl out into the night air.

“Sammy, get yer gun. We got ourselves a Wendigo infestation in these here parts!”


	7. Winchester Ex Machina

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You'll never guess who rolls into town.

Damon’s ‘No Good, Very Bad Day’ was going from ‘Very Bad’ to ‘Very Worse.’

 

“Who the _fuck_ are you?” he demanded of the night. The night became an attractive cowboy-type with a bowlegged swagger who stepped through the ruined foyer. In the presence of someone who challenged his status as alpha douche, Damen’s hackles rose. The man coughed and corrected himself.

 

“Ah, right, we ain’t in Kansas anymore, lemme try that again so y’all can understand… Well hullo there, eh. Sooorry for all the mess. Nooo need to worry, gentle Canadians. How about I take that thing you tied up there and get it to a no-kill shelter, eh?”

 

The stranger’s cultural insensitivity and demeaning demeanor metaphorically threatened Damon’s helium balloon ego with a switchblade.

 

_Offending all races, religions, and assorted identities is MY job!_

Damon spoke right over Chris’ offended whimpers in the background.

 

“No, literally, who the actual fuck are you?” Wendi-Josh screeched in what might be considered agreement. The stranger eyed the bound Wendigo with concern.

 

“I dunno how you boys managed to wrangle this here creature, but he’s a mean sonuvobitch. If y’all’d kindly help bring him to the car out front, I’ll take him off your hands and you can sleep easy tonight in your igloos.”

 

Chris was getting pretty good at letting barbs from ignorant Americans go. So, instead:

 

“Wait your car is _here_? How? We’re halfway up a mountain!” Mystery man loped over to assess the Wendigo.

 

“Yeah, ‘course. My baby’s parked right outside. We took a back road.” The ensuing outrage frightened even the man-eating monster.

 

“I took that creepy as fuck gondola, rebuilt just as freaky as the last one, when someone (Ashley) could have just driven me up here?!” (Chris)

 

“I ran through miles of hairy Albertian asscrack instead of taking my sweet Benz like any good member of the 1%?!” (Damon)

 

Stranger-Danger squinted up at the duo from where he was tying the Wendigo’s feet together. Something was off about these mild-mannered Kanucks. He was pretty sure the brunet was quietly kicking the Wendigo into submission when he thought no one was paying attention, but chalked it up to Crack Eye Moody giving the distressed monster good ol’ Canadian comforting foot-strokes.

 

“Alright boys,” he said, straightening and putting his hands on trim hips, “let’s get this nasty into the trunk. Son,” he gestured to Chris, “you take my rifle and cover us as we move the devil. Don’t worry, shootin’ ain’t hard.” Chris took the firearm with distressing coolness.

 

“I know.”

 

Grabbing his son from the ends, Damon and the man began the move outside. When Chris shot questioning glances his way, clearly looking for direction, Damon just shook his head. Driving Josh down the mountain would be so much easier than carrying him by hand as originally planned (or more accurately, not planned). Once they reached the base, Damon would ‘take care’ of the driver. He hoped Chris wouldn’t fuck up the scheme like he fucked up his vision watching too much anime.

 

Things were going according to keikaku until Bigfoot leapt out of the forest. Damon screamed and dropped his end of Josh, who was not happy with this recent turn of events. Chris briefly entertained the notion of letting the vampire, the Wendigo, and Bigfoot duke it out, but figured it wasn’t fair to the rather attractive American who had offered them a ride down the mountain on a cold winter’s night. He took aim at the newcomer.

 

“Ah, Sammy! There you are, little brother. Get lost in there?” chuckled the stranger. Bigfoot shook his waist-length tresses out of his face, revealing another attractive American.

 

“Shut up, Dean. I got turned around is all. You caught the Wendigo?  Awesome” said the giant as he unlocked the black vintage car waiting in the snow.

 

Damon and the shorter American threw Josh unceremoniously into the trunk. Something was nagging at the vampire’s subconscious, but for the (un)life of him, he couldn’t figure it out. Chris had gone whiter than usual and kept giving him frantic looks in between emphatically jerking his head in the mysteriosos’ direction. As they got into the back seat of the old car, he heard Chris mumbling things like “that's impossible,” and “but how?” to himself. One of the Americans started the engine, and the other slipped an ancient cassette into the player.

 

“CARRY ON MY WAYWARD SON”

 

_Wait._

 

Damon’s head whipped up to stare at the men in front of him.

“THERE’LL BE PEACE WHEN YOU ARE DONE”

 

_There’s no way._

 

“Your name is Dean, and you called this guy Sammy your brother?” he asked the driver. The driver inclined his head.

 

“Yeah, Sam’s my baby bro.”

 

“LAY YOUR WEARY HEAD TO REST”

 

 _I don’t believe it_.

 

“You’re out here in a Chevy Impala, hunting monsters in the middle of the night,” Damon stated in stupefaction. The brothers looked uneasily at each other.

 

"What of it?" groused the elder.

 

“DON’T YOU CRY NO MORE”

 

“Oh my god, you’re the Winchesters.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No!
> 
> *sick guitar riff*


	8. The Canadian Mistake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The cat comes out of the bag.

“Damnit, Sammy! I told you we should’ve used codenames!” Sam rolled his eyes.

 

“We are not running around Alberta calling ourselves ‘Eh-1’ and ‘Eh-2, Brutus.’”

 

The Winchesters- because of course they were the Winchesters, no supernatural creature could rear its ugly head without their knowledge- bickered while Damon struggled with reality and Chris hoped they wouldn’t recognize Destiel_Shipper_5ever,eh? from the Supernatural blogs. Damon pulled his head out of his own anus long enough to have a coherent thought.

 

“What the hell is going on? Aren’t you two fictional characters from that shitty TV show?”

 

There were three grunts of protest: two from the directly offended, and one in defense of his fandom. Dean gripped the steering wheel as they navigated a sharp, snowy switchback. Sam launched into an explanation.

 

“The show’s based on a book series by Chuck Shurley, who’s kinda psychic. He wrote the books based on our lives for a few years, and a network picked them up as a show. He hasn’t written anything in a while, but the show’s still going on. It, uh, really shouldn’t. Actually, we haven’t heard from Chuck in years. Wonder what he’s up too…” trailed off Sam, pensively.

 

“I’m sure he works in mysterious ways,” muttered Chris, who had watched every episode of the show  _religiously._

“So, let me get this straight,” said Damon with growing unease. “You’re the actual hunters who kill things that go bump in the night, have major daddy issues, all that jazz?” Dean nearly drove off the windy mountain road.

 

‘What the hell do you mean, daddy issues?!” Time for Chris to exact his revenge.

 

“It’s a GOOD THING that there are no OTHER MONSTERS nearby. I mean, you’re the MONSTER KILLING EXPERTS, right? You’d KNOW?”

 

Damon decided the teen’s death would be slow. And public. But Chris had vastly overestimated the Winchesters’ abilities. They inflated under the praise.

 

“Don’t worry, kid. You’re safe with us. Besides Slenderman in the trunk, there ain’t nuthin’ fer miles,” puffed Dean as they pulled out of the forest and onto level ground. Damon, ever the adult, stuck his tongue out at Chris in the backseat. The teen would live to see another day.

 

The Impala passed another car hidden behind the tree line with its lights off. Not wanting someone (Ashley) to worry about his disappearance, Chris surreptitiously shot off a text with an update.  They bumped along the base road to the highway.

 

“So what’s the plan?” asked Chris, eyeing his friend’s father for a signal of any kind.

 

“The plan ain’t changed just cuz you heard ‘bout me and my baby bro. We’re dropping you two mountain-climbin’ fools home and then ganking this sonuvobitch.” For the first time since regaining memories of fatherhood, Damon took things seriously.

 

“You can’t! You _cannot_ kill that thing.” Dean snorted, pulling off the highway and into town.

 

“Listen tall, dark, and creepy, I dunno how much of the show you’ve seen, but me and Sam, we’ve dealt with plenty of freaks in our time, Wendigos included.” He sped up to catch a yellow light down the main street.

 

Tearing at his hair, Damon began to panic. If these flannel-wearing hicks were truly the Winchesters, he couldn’t risk outing himself as a vampire through compulsion or any of the other great vampy tricks. But if he didn’t do something soon, Tweedledee and Tweedledum would do to Josh in one night what Damon’s parental neglect had been doing slowly for years. Sam continued where his brother left off.

 

“Yeah, we pretty much have this taken care of. By sunrise, the Wendigo will be de-”

 

Timing, they say, is everything. And everything was what Damon was prepared to risk. He pulled himself up to the space between the front seats. Then, with all the ferocity he could muster:

 

“No, you can’t kill him. He’s my son.”

 

…and then proceeded to crash headlong into the windshield, as he was not wearing his seatbelt when Dean slammed on the brakes. Josh voiced (read: shrieked) his displeasure at the sudden change in velocity from the trunk. Chris frantically pulled the cosmic disappointment back into seat. Dean whipped around to glare at them murderously.

 

“You got some ‘splainin’ to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not the most exciting of chapters, but it had to be written regardless.


	9. Baby's Gone Blind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> turning darkness into light

_Dark. Light. Dark again. Light. Lighlightlightlightlight-_

_Voices._

_So hungry, need to hunt, need to FEED._

_Dark again. Light._

_Movement everywhere, need to taste-_

_TOO MUCH LIGHT._

Screeching as the offensive beams seared through opalescent membranes, it struggled in the grip of the other predator- _one of same kind?_ -that had trespassed in its territory and attacked it while dragging off prey. And what delicious, familiar smelling prey it was.

 

 _(Pain_ )

That was not uncommon. A sense beyond instinct, a….thought? while rare, was usually accompanied by a lurch deep in its skull, like when the horrible bolts of light during storms would strike and shatter rock. Something stirred in the depths at these….thoughts. But they were coming less often over time, which is what it would have thought if able to do so. Instead, it hissed as the pain receded and squirmed some more.

 

It was far from its lair, that much it could tell. After being stuck in a small, dark space, it had been dragged into a warmer, brighter, less sooty lair, most likely belonging to the other predator and its pack that consisted of prey. Odd, didn’t predators and prey never mix in the wild-

 

_(PAIN!)_

A jarring blow to its side cut off its shrieking. The voices, which had been a consistent susurrus of variations on, “how is that even possible?” and, “I don’t know, the mountain did it!” grew to yelps as it curled around its wounded area. Some voices were more familiar than others.

 

“Do you have to kick him that hard?! The Winchesters already shackled supernatural-inhibiting chains to his legs, he can’t harm us!”

 

“Relax, kouhai. I’m just making sure junior here doesn’t try taking a bite of you again.”

 

Too quiet for the other prey to hear, it made out a “And you call _me_ a weeb, Mr. Washington?” The blur of movement from the other predator and subsequent flinch from familiar-prey suggested the trespasser hadn’t missed the subvocalization, either. Typical. Always teasing Chris for liking anime-

 

_(Painpainpain!)_

 

Though it tracked the movements of its captors through the haze of discomfort, most of the ensuing conversation was lost.

 

“Listen, Mr. Washington, was it? I dunno if you got a bad batch of beer with dinner, but that thing is not your boy.”

 

“For the last time, I’m American, and ‘that thing’ you’re referring to is my son Josh.” The shorter of the unfamiliar ones slapped a hand over its face and gestured to the taller.

 

“Ugh, Sammy, help me out here.”

 

It cocked its head from where it lay on the floor.

 

_‘Josh?’_

 

“Look, Chris said that you recently lost your son after he went missing on the mountain. I’m sure it’s hard to accept that he’s gone, but you have to face the facts. He was up there for days all by himself.” Familiar-prey- _Chris?_ \- winced. “There’s no way he survived.” The other predator, which was also disturbing something (?) beneath its surface, growled and spoke again.

 

“I’m telling you, that’s Josh. I don’t know how,” Chris winced again, “but you _cannot_ deny the ocular resemblance!” An awkward silenced followed. The unfamiliar prey with the short pelt sighed.

 

“Alright Washington, I didn’t wanna hafta say it, but it looks like you ain’t gonna see the light. My bleeding heart brother was trying to sell you on the notion that Josh died of exposure on that godforsaken hill. Your boy has been up there for weeks with the creature that made bone toothpicks out of an entire SWAT team. What’s more’n’likely is that what got them got him first. And we’re lookin’ at it.”

 

_‘SWAT team.’ Encased in hard, black covering. So many. So fresh. SO HUNGRY._

The other occupants of the bright, accursed lair jumped back from its renewed screeching and writhing. The smaller stranger swore.

 

“What do you say to vengeance for your son, Washington? Ready to gank the sonuvobitch that ate Josh?”

 

_Josh._

Facing it fully for the first time since their struggle in its home, the other predator- _Washington_ \- looked uncertain.

 

“That’s…really not Josh?”

_Josh. Washington._

 

_(pain)_

The predator advanced.

 

“That’s not my son?”

 

_Josh is…_

_(PAIN)_

The familiar predator grabbed it by the shoulders and hauled it up to eye level. The assortment of prey protested sharply in the background. Unfurled, the light was even more unbearable.

 

“This thing killed my son?”

 

_Josh is…!_

_(Pain! Pain! Pain!)_

Blue eyes met white ones. Something ( _Josh?_ ) shook itself loose in the dark depths. Impossibly strong hands tightened. The screams reached a crescendo, and the light was blinding.

 

“Monster, you killed my son! I’LL KILL YOU.”

 

_Josh is m-!_

_PAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPAINPA-_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When humor won't cut it, melodrama will do.


	10. And Nothing But The Truth

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shoutout to ShadyLady for the transformation timeline approximation

Someone was screaming. He didn’t know who it was or what they wanted, but the phrase ‘bloody murder’ came to mind.

 

“Mr. Washington! Mr. Washington, stop!”

 

_Are they talking to me?_

 

“You were right, Mr. Washington, stop! He’s Josh! He’s your son!”

 

Mr. Washington snapped back to attention where he was starting to strangle the Wendigo. From the corner of his grossly horrific eye, he could see the Winchesters had guns trained on him. The beast in his clutches was still thrashing madly. Chris had thrown himself at his back and was attempting to pull the two apart.

 

“You were right, ok? You’re both right,” he said, gesturing briefly to Dean, “to some extent. This is Josh, _and_ what ate the SWAT team they sent up to look for him.” The vampire rounded on the teen.

 

“Talk. Now.”

 

Chris sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He turned to address the Winchesters.

 

“You guys know how Wendigo are born, right?” Samndean snorted at such an amateur question.

 

“Of course we know, kid. Who do you take us for?” Chris cursed himself for being a shame to all Supernatural fans.

 

“Right, duh. It’s only the second episode of the first season, and the first appearance of a monster on the show…” he muttered, causing Sam to wonder if this was the creature they should fear most in the room. Dean couldn’t resist an opportunity to show off.

 

“A Wendigo’s made when a human gets a hankerin’ for manflesh, usually in the vicinity of some ancient hoodoo spot.”

 

“Oh my god Dean, that’s so culturally insensitive I don’t even-!” (Sam)

 

“You can relate to that ‘hankering,’ huh Dean?” (Destiel_Fan_5ever,eh?)

 

The entire exchange went over the Confeder-vamp’s somewhat pretty head. Thankfully, Chris knew his friend’s father well enough to guess at the confusion.

 

 _Can’t run from this forever._ Nevertheless, he took a few steps closer to the Winchesters just in case.

 

“How does Josh liking dudes make him Gollum’s big brother?”

 

_At least Mr. Washington has acceptance going for him as a father…_

 

“What Dean tried and failed to explain is that when a person engages in…in, uh, cannibalism, on land sacred to the First Nations, they turn into the human-eating monster called a Wendigo.” He saw Mr. Washington’s unholy eyes widen to a truly terrifying degree. “When we were trapped on Blackwood, a mountaineer who told us about the Wendigo was attacked and killed a couple hours before our rescue. All alone with no means of finding food, I think that Josh... Josh had to try and survive, somehow.”

 

Damon looked back at the captured beast, which had stilled after wearing itself out in the tussle. Chris soldiered on.

 

“The Winchesters can correct the timeline with their expert opinions, but from what we- my friends and I- pieced together from stuff we found on the mountain, it takes a little while for the person to turn into a Wendigo after, uh, the first feeding.”

 

“‘Bout a couple weeks, but it ain’t a sure thing each time. We’ve seen people change in a matter of hours to a whole month,” chipped in Dean. Chris nodded.

 

“Gotcha. It’s been about a month since that night. The mysterious mountaineer, plus the SWAT team, were probably eaten by Josh in the past few weeks.” He paused to give the vampire a sympathetic look. “So yes, this Wendigo was probably Josh at some point, but it’s been so long, I doubt your son is in there anymore.”

 

Damon felt the room spin. His son, driven to cannibalism in a frozen, Canadian hell? Now a flesh-eating, spider-limbed freak of nature? He threw himself into the kitchen and reached for the closest bottle of bourbon. Not bothering with a glass, he imbibed deeply.

 

_I can hear them, the Winchesters, in the other room. 'How to convince the kid's father that killing the Wendigo is the right thing to do.' ...Is it? Should I be like Albertian Macklemore over there and just pretend that Josh died a month ago?_

 

Still pulling long draughts from the bottle, he spied a flash of pale blue in the reflection of a glass cabinet door.

 

_Josh?! Wait, no, that’s just me._

He slammed the mostly empty bottle down on the counter. This was _not_ how his story was ending. Polishing off the bourbon, Kool-Aid Dad burst back into the den. Everyone looked on in awe at his dramatic, powerful entrance.*

 

“Shut your pie holes, Wincesters,” barked Damon. Chris nearly fainted from secondhand embarrassment upon hearing The Ship That Dare Not Speak Its Name outside of certain, dark corners of the internet. “We’re going with Plan A. My boy is staying right here, with me, and we’re getting him fixed up. If you don’t like it, you can go back to not dealing with your daddy issues in Kansas.”

 

Damon thought it was a beautiful speech. Chris thought Damon took ‘liquid courage’ too literally. Dean thought this lush of a father, who looked way too young to have a teenage son, was one to talk. As usual, nobody cared what Sam thought. That was why everyone was surprised when:

 

“How about we call in some help for this one?” suggested Sam, ever the voice of ignored reason. “Maybe he could, I dunno, make contact with Josh.” Dean groaned.

 

“We are _not_ calling him just to deal with a stupid Wendigo, Sammy! He’s probably got heavenly choir practice or something.”

 

Destiel_Fan_5ever,eh? had a small meltdown when he realized who they were talking about. Sam fixed his brother with The Look.

 

“Dean, it is the middle of the night, and we are up to our eyeballs in Wendigo, alcoholics, and weebs. Call. Him.”

 

Dean screwed up his face as if he were in physical pain, and made the call.

  

* * *

 

*Not really. He stumbled tipsily into the room, knocking over a lamp and a coffee table. Damon confused looks of wonder with looks of disgust.


	11. Praying for the End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Destiel_Fan_5ever,eh? gets his wish.

Whatever Damon was expecting out of Dean Winchester’s call to the mysterious ‘him,’ closing his eyes and folding his hands in prayer was not it. Sam appeared to be listening with anticipation. Chris, on the other hand, looked five seconds away from wetting himself.

 

“Hey, Cas, it’s me. I dunno if you have time, or if you’re busy grooming your wings or something, but we could use your he-”

 

“Hello, Dean,” said a gravely voice from stage right. Damon spared a glance down to make sure he hadn’t done a Chris in fright. An unassuming white man was standing, pitched slightly towards Dean, in the Washington den where no such lurker had lurked moments before. Vampio-mio bleakly wondered if the growing number of guests would be expecting breakfast in a couple hours. The newcomer continued addressing no one but Dean. “What can I do for you?”

 

“Hey, thanks for coming,” muttered Dean, refusing to look at The Accountant directly, “we have a situation on our hands.”

 

Damon’s vamp hearing picked up “Oh my Chuck, it’s Cas!” from the starry-eyed teen. This ‘Cas’ looked between him and his Wendi-son before returning to stare intently at the elder Winchester brother. His gaze was a little too piercing for Damon’s comfort.

 

“Of course, anything for you, Dean,” muttered Cas. He turned to the Wendigo tied up in the corner. “Shall I smite this creature?”

 

_Oh, hell._

“No, no smiting!” Damon hollered, “We just need him turned back into a human!” The mysterious Cas’ gaze flicked between the Wendigo and Damon once more.

 

“Him, or y-”

 

 _Crap, can’t have that either_.

 

“Yes, him, the eldritch-horror-in-the-corner,” broke in Damon, cutting off his most recent unwelcome guest. Sam looked thoughtful at Cas’ words for a hot second, but lapsed back into blissful Winchester obliviousness. Dean encountered no such trouble whatsoever. Damon kept going. “So, I can appreciate an entrance, and I’m not sober enough to give two fucks about how you got in here, but why did Princess Dea here call you to help Josh?” The Duchess of Cornbread expelled hyper-masculine grunts of displeasure. Cas answered slowly as he assessed the Wendigo.

 

“My name is Castiel. I am an angel of the Lord. Throughout their travels, the Winchesters have become…special, to me.” He turned to regard the elder Winchester once more. “Dean especially. He bears my mark upon his skin.” And once more, Damon’s enhanced hearing picked up Destiel_Fan_5ever,eh?’s subvocalization. (“Ya damn right he does, hehehe.”)

 

Cas stood before the Wendigo. “This one has committed a heinous sin. He is paying for his crime.” He paused for a moment. “Nevertheless, I can sense vestiges of humanity deep within. I can pull them to the surface, for a time.”

 

Disappointing as the heavenly entity’s answer was, Damon figured he’d make do until he got Bonnie up here as originally planned. He nodded his assent.

 

Cas placed a hand on the Wendigo’s grimy pate and closed his eyes. The beast squirmed and shrieked. In the ensuing seconds, its unearthly cries gained a more human inflection. Chris looked like he was about to be sick. Barely noticeable striae darkened and coalesced in the thing’s haunting eyes until Damon was looking at a near-mirror image of his own. And then, with a voice hoarse from screaming…

 

“D….dad?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I believe certain parties are now back in my debt.


	12. Sins of the Fathers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A father says the words that two different sons needed to hear.

The light of false dawn signaled an end to the long night.

 

Damon was torn between approaching his son and running in fear like a shitty father. But the self-proclaimed Angel of the Lord **™** beckoned him forward, and the nightwalker didn’t want to risk being smote upon the rug (it was imported from a luxury store in California, after all.) He, with Chris behind him taking advantage of the convenient meat shield, crept forward.

 

They were disappointed with what they saw.

 

The limbs of the Wendigo had somewhat shortened, and the dark luster of real human skin returned to the creature’s form. But despite considerable physical improvement, there was no question that Josh could pass as his previous self. Chris estimated that he was at least a foot taller than his previous 5’9”. Thankfully, the month-old remnants of Josh’s clothes were intact enough in the, ahem, important places so as not to rankle anyone’s (Dean’s) fragile grasp of heteronormativity. Josh attempted to speak again.

 

“D-dad? Is th- is that you?” It broke Chris’ heart to hear his friend struggle so. He wished this reunion didn’t have to happen in front of an audience of strangers. But knowing Josh’s father, he probably reveled in the attention.

 

“That’s right, junior. It’s me. You’re back home, and you’re safe now.” Chris disagreed with that last part as he eyed the Winchesters’ monster hunting guns, but didn’t spoil the moment. “Your Aunt Bonnie” –Chris had no memory of the Washingtons ever mentioning an Aunt Bonnie in the years he’d known them, but such discrepancies were becoming routine while rolling with daddy dearest- “will figure something out. She already owns my soul, anyway. She’d be glad to help her favorite nephew.”

 

Josh raised a hairless eyebrow and flopped his elongated limbs emphatically. Damon rushed to reassure him.

 

“Ok, maybe you’ll spend the rest of your life smacking your head on doorframes. If I don’t wear my ring, I’m a bonfire in sunlight. So, we hang out at night. We take long trips out of the country. We’re rich, they’ll call us eccentric instead of nutty. It’ll be fine. We’ll make it work.”

 

“I dunno, Dad. There are still a lot we’ll have to figure out. I’m always so….hungry.” Damon rolled the eyes that got him into this mess in the first place.

 

“Josh, if I can resist ripping out the jugulars of all your stupid little friends when they’re giving me sass and I haven’t had any O-negative in hours, you can learn to chew gum instead of bones.” Christ prayed to Chuck that the local blood bank was well stocked. Josh’s warped face still looked unsure.

 

“But I still have problems. Human problems. I can’t think like everyone. When bad things happen, I don’t just get sad, I stay sad. And angry. And I can’t make good decisions.”

 

“You talkin’ ‘bout mental illness? Son, I know, and I know I’ve been doing a bad job supporting you. You’re built the way you are, and that’s how I want you,” puffed Damon, feeling warmth in his unnaturally beating heart for the first time in over a century.

 

Dean had wrapped his arms around himself and, though still angled away from Cas, edged closer to the angel apparent.

 

Once Damon got the ‘halfway decent Dad’ ball rolling, he kept the momentum going.

 

“And that homunculus of a psychiatrist you were seeing didn’t know jack shit. Hell, he probably made things more difficult for you! We’re gonna get you the right resources so you can lead a full un-life, and we’ll start by bringing this family back together right here, right now.” Josh’s look of hope made the last 24-hour ordeal more than worth it. Chris chimed in.

 

“Yeah man, we got your (pale, skinny) back! Sam and I did some research into what it means to be considered neuro-atypical and showed it to the gang. We’ll never know exactly how you feel or what your experience is, but we’re definitely here for you.” He held up a hand for an reconciliatory fist bump, and Josh did not leave him hanging.*

 

Dean rocked back and forth on his feet, swaying a little more into Cas’ space with each pass.

 

Damon grasped Josh by his bony shoulders and locked identical pairs of eyes.

 

“You heard your friend. You got a support network. Maybe I wasn’t the best father,” Dean twitched at this statement, “and wasn’t there for you when you needed me. I didn’t tell you how much I love and accept you often enough. But I’m saying right now, in front of your best bro, a couple of masculine stereotypes, and the heavenly host itself,” Cas muttered that he was only one of the host, but nobody paid attention, “from father to son, I love you just the way you are.”

 

“Dad, do you really mean that?” asked Josh.

 

“Hell yeah, kid.”

 

If one didn’t know better, one would have thought Dean sniffled quietly at the exchange. But one was wise to the delicate nature of a Winchester’s emotional breakthrough, and let the scene continue without calling attention to such a minute detail. A moment of peace passed through the Washington den, freezing it into a supernaturally domestic tableau.

 

And then Dawn’s rosy fingers formed a fist and punched everyone in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *But with his Wendigo strength, he sent Chris flying. This fact was omitted from the main retelling of events as it was deemed unimportant.


	13. Chapter 12.5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even more supernatural-horror-melodrama action!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My name is Cliff, brother of Joe.  
> You liked chapter 12, I got you some mo'

Wendi-Josh proceeded to shriek and claw at his crack-a-lackin’ eyes as the sun’s faint rays shot through the slats in the blinds. Damon cursed and vamp-sped over to the large bay windows, pulling them as tightly closed as possible.

 

That was strike two.

 

The younger Winchester’s brow wrinkled in confusion. Something was off… He turned a questioning glance to the side, but his brother and Cas were too busy making cow eyes at each other to notice. Business as usual, then. But still, something about this Damon Washington guy had started to rub him the wrong way in the past few minutes.

 

_Well, rub the wrong way faster and harder than before._

Chris and Damon were pulling Josh into a more comfortable sitting position against a wall. Though his arms were freed- _When did that happen? Should we be concerned?_ \- he was literally and figuratively brought low by recent events. Sam found himself touched by their immediate embracing of Josh back into their lives.

 

Unfortunately, Damon didn’t get a chance to strike out a third time.

 

Cas, who had stopped peering at Dean if he held all the wonders of his father’s creations, regarded the scene with coolness. As was his way, he didn’t beat around the bush.

 

“Now that the cannibal’s mind is liberated, shall we smite the vampire?”

 

From where he was crouched next to Josh, said vampire’s unsettling eyes widened.

 

_Oh shit._


	14. After Dawn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The saga slumps over the finish line to its conclusion.

The rest, as they say, was history.

 

Chris fended off the Winchesters’ outrage. Luckily they reacted with their usual sluggishness to and important revelation, giving Chris enough time to bullshit a tragic backstory for his best friend’s father that would let him survive to drink another bourbon neat. Damon was as thankful as he ever was. When dawn’s light failed to barbeque him, Sam and Dean took it as a sign that Damon truly was a ‘special snowflake vampire’ (Chris’ words). Nobody gave the garish ring on his hand a second glance.

 

Mission accomplished, or at least forgotten about, the Winchesters and Dean’s angelic plus one packed themselves into the Camaro and drove down to the border. Sam couldn’t help but mention loudly how, “it’s legal in _both_ countries now, Dean. Isn’t that great? Anyone could marry anyone. Why wait? Like, if someone had been waiting to say something to, I dunno, someone who’d become really special to them in the past few years, now would be the _perfect_ time to confess their feelings.” His brother told him to shut his pie hole. Fortunately for Dean, the exchange went entirely over Cas’ head.

 

Over the following weeks life returned to some semblance of normalcy at Chez Washington. Damon did his best to Wendigo-proof the house and Chris slowly reintroduced their gang of friends to Wendi-Josh. For obvious reasons nobody was thrilled to see him, but as they were mostly responsible for the deaths of his sisters, he wasn’t exactly overjoyed to see them, either. But everyone moved on in the way that people do. Emily even came to enjoy hitting up thrift stores for clothes that would fit a hideously elongated body.

 

Reports of disappearances of biohazardous material from local hospitals became white noise to the folks in town. Missing blood bags and the corpses of the freshly deceased were nothing to fret over compared to the occasional midnight sightings of a pale, long-limbed creature wearing secondhand clothes catapulting itself across rooftops with a man drunkenly stumbling after him. But this was Canada, and the locals chocked it up to the town “being cursed, eh.”

 

To Josh’s delighted surprise, a steady diet of human bodies and antidepressants lifted from pharmacies in the area improved the Wendigo’s mental health. The superior Sam (so not Sam Winchester, who had never considered therapy in his life) even found a counselor who offered phone and messaging services that Josh could use without needing to appear in person. Of course he had to omit some of the ‘finer details’ of what had been bothering him, but having a supportive adult who wasn’t his father was a great help.

 

That wasn’t to say that Josh and his father were struggle-free for the rest of their days. He had his relapses and down periods. Damon still loved booze more than most things. Josh’s future as a sentient human-eating monster was at odds with his previous aspirations as a teenaged boy. But they had each other, and this mysterious Aunt Bonnie was flying up from the states in a few weeks to see if she could spell away the Wendigo influence on the favorite nephew she didn’t know she had (and shrink Josh down to a more passably human size).

 

* * *

 

Epilogue:

 

As for Chris, he was bumped up from the previous one rank above gang omega to regular member for his heroic efforts. Ashley (whom he was dating, let it be known) was jealous that not only had he met their favorite ‘fictional’ hunting trio, he wasn’t  joining her at the bottom of the metaphorical doggy pile. Alas, the growing tensions between them came to a head when, watching  _Supernatural_ season 56, episode 14, someone (Ashley) in the group mentioned that they were bummed that Wincest was never made canon. Chris choked back tears (and vomit) as he wrote the breakup text later that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL OWE ME SO MUCH YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE DON'T SAY I NEVER DID ANYTHING FOR YOU I AM OWED SO MUCH FIC I CAN'T EVEN


End file.
